Does that Answer your Question?

Yesterday afternoon while I was cleaning out homework folders, emptying lunch boxes and sorting out who had what homework, Remi told me she stumbled onto the word "Poop" in the dictionary.  "Mazel Tov" I told her. "Oh, that must have made you so happy," I said to her knowing full well how hysterical she must have been at her discovery.

Back to business sorting, emptying out backpacks.  Making afternoon snacks.  Letting the dogs out.  Letting the dogs in.  Remi again.

"Mom?"
"Yes Remi."
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"I also found the word Sex."
"Really, next to the word Poop?"
"No, but I just found it."
"What does it mean, what's the definition?"
"Moooooommmmmmm, I did not read it.  That's for grown-ups!"

Phew.  Because in between serving Chad his 100th ham roll and Eden Nutella, my parental dictionary did not have a perfected answer to my own question.  The closest we came to addressing any form of sex education was how babies are made.  Also not my best work.  My eighth grade health teacher, Mr. Salinsky might have given me a C- with a big frown on his face.   If you ask Chad how babies are made, he'd tell you you mix a little bit of daddy with a little bit of mommy and you get a baby.  He might even mention that it has do to with little fish that get involved some how.  It was the best we could do at the time.

Years earlier when asked the same question, "Where do babies come from?" before either Todd or I could answer our inquisitive 6 year old, Remi answered her own question for herself.  "They come out from your belly button."  Great I thought.  Asked and answered.  We're done.  Except no, we're not done.  "Remi, that's not where babies come from" said her brother Chad.  "Babies come out of their mother's mouths or ears, not their belly buttons."  Dodged that bullet big time.

(Baby having just been delivered from my ear)

Once during a late weekend family dinner, I was relaxed from my favorite Cakebread red wine and in response to the same question, muttered that in fact babies come out of their mommy's vagina.   Lead drops more lightly.  "What?  That's not possible." I heard from Remi!  "Seriously mom, no seriously mom, that's gross, don't ever say that again" I heard from Chad.  Eden got hysterical, "you said Vagina!!!!!"  I shot Todd a wifely SOS look and we jumped right into a dinner-time "Would You Rather" game.  Salvation.

Sex.  Babies.  So the question is really when, not if we will ever have to address these subjects with our children?  What will we say?  I can see our migration.  My young children thought babies just happened -- poof, abracadabra.  My preschool and kindergarten children knew you mixed a little of this with a pinch of that, bake at 375 and a baby arrived out your mouth or ear!  My elementary school children are getting shrewder (thanks Miley Cyrus) and discovering bits and pieces that when compiled, will paint a very different picture.  Do parents still reference birds and bees?  Should we now be talking in terms of Angry Birds and Chop Chop Ninjas?  Mario and Princess Peach?  I'm not sure I know the answer yet.

Here's what I do know.  The other day, Todd and I were being snugly and kiss-kiss and our older two children told us we were gross and disgusting.  The mere sight of our kiss sent them running, their retinas shielded from Sodom and Gomorrah.  So I say, "go in peace my children.  Fast, run away from your teen years, sprint blindly back to your youth."  And for goodness sake, stay there for as long as humanly possible.  Or at least until I can turf this line of questioning completely to your dad!